


Barricade

by imperfectkreis



Series: Made to Break [1]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Kissing, M/M, The Void
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 20:33:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8592481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectkreis/pseuds/imperfectkreis
Summary: (No actual Dishonored 2 spoilers) There are limits to what the Outsider can and cannot achieve. Corvo often misjudges where those boundaries actually stand.





	

“You’ve thought of this before?” The Outsider asks, light catching in the dark well of his eyes.

Corvo crosses his arms over his chest, though it does little to defend him. Instead, merely closing himself off. “Do you not know?”

Smiling, the Outsider offers, “You have always been fond of overestimating me. It’s flattering.”

Beneath their feet, the Void is as it always stands, rocky and uneven, emptying into nothing. Corvo is certain he’s fallen from its ledges before, when he was still half-numb with the newly offered power of his “gifts.” But he has not been here for a long time, and he barely remembers the sensation of falling with no surface on which to land.

“You watch your Marked. Why choose us, otherwise?”

“Yes,” the Outsider admits, “I do watch. You’ve been...less interesting as of late. But I do not begrudge you that,” he wrings his hands together. “One day, you’ll be interesting again. I’m not bored of you. Not at all. You’ve always been…”

“A favorite?”

The Outsider smiles, “Yes.”

“This isn’t the Void,” Corvo wrinkles his nose, realizing now his mistake. Something is off. There is no brine in the air. “You’re not you.”

There is a flicker in front of Corvo’s eyes, a fade. Then the static clears, the Outsider before his vision once more.

“You’ve thought of this before?” The Outsider asks, light catching the dark well of his eyes.

The pattern repeats. This time, it is different.

Corvo tries again, reaching forward to grab at a being he’s never managed to touch before. For all their past intimacies, lectures that weave into conversation, tactility has never seemed an option.

But Corvo’s fingers rake against the fabric of the Outsider’s doublet, grazing against fine cloth, over brass buttons, down the length of the Outsider’s chest, to his waistline. And he can feel a body, warm and pliant under his touch. The Outsider _breathes_ , so no, this can’t be the Void. Can it?

“A dream, then?” Corvo asks, dragging his fingers back up to the Outsider’s neck, wrapping his hand around the pale column of the Outsider’s throat. He presses his thumb against the bob of the Outsider’s apple. He feels it give under soft pressure.

“That long?” there is that smile again. “If you do this, I may hate you.”

“Why?” Corvo should shake himself awake. Dissipate this false-vision while he still has a chance. 

“Because it is predictable. Because other men and women have tried before.”

“Have they succeeded?” Corvo asks, still gripping firm to the Outsider’s coat in one hand. His throat in the other. Corvo should uncurl his fingers, he should forget about this heat rising in his chest. 

“My question first,” the Outsider demands, his voice low and even, “how long have you wished to touch me?”

Corvo is only honest, “Not long.”

“And how long have you wished to fuck me?” this time the Outsider sneers, his contempt evident. 

“Longer.”

Corvo wakes. Sweat on his brow and over his hands, he feels a sticky, horrific mess. His cock is at attention and the sun still low on the horizon. But he ignores his erection, putting his feet to the floor to ready for the day. A dream, nothing more. Dreams and the Void are not one and the same. The former is only an echo of the latter.

He washes his face in the basin, trying to scrub away the dream that haunts him yet. Not the Void, he repeats to himself. The Outsider, for all his powers, cannot be inside his head. The Outsider has not contacted him in years. The Outsider is disinterested. 

“You’re wrong,” a voice breaks behind him. 

Corvo spins around. Impossible. Impossible that someone could enter his private rooms without his notice. He is suitably paranoid for his station, with clever traps watching as he rests. As it is, he is adept at noticing small, unusual sounds, out of place objects, the tedious data of safety.

The man who stands before him is young, having just crossed the threshold into adulthood, with smooth, fine features, and feathery dark hair. In the low light of the lit candles and rising daylight, Corvo can say little more, other than he recognizes the way the shadows cut across his visitor’s jaw. 

“It’s you.”

The Outsider places one hand against his hip. His clothes are modest, simple, cut from cotton with little attention to detail. His shirt hangs loose from his narrow shoulders, pooling where it tucks into his waistband. It is in stark contrast to the way he reveals himself in the Void, sharply tailored and almost regal as he crosses his domain. Here, in Corvo’s chambers, the Outsider clashes, framed against solid walls.

Corvo shakes his head, “How? You cannot do this. I know you cannot.” 

The Outsider is a creature of the Void. A joining of ancient flesh and magic. Corvo knows he was human once, a long time ago. But whatever the Millennia have left behind, could not possibly be this. 

He is tall, even with his feet now anchored, taller than Corvo by an inch, but lean and lithe. Tiny, delicate wrists peeking out from his shirt cuffs. “You are right, there are many things I cannot do. But this I can manage, for a time.”

The Outsider wraps his own long fingers around Corvo’s bare wrist, squeezing down tight, affirming his corporeality. 

“So it wasn’t a dream?” Corvo asks.

The Outsider narrows his eyes, still dark, without whites. “It was, then it wasn’t.” Turning Corvo’s hand, palm down, the Outsider looks at his own Mark, etched into Corvo’s flesh. It pulses, deep purple. Corvo once thought he could see the Void in it. He knows better now.

“Then why come to me like this, if you will hate me for my desires?”

Correcting Corvo’s statement, the Outsider replies, “I _may_ hate you.” Letting go of Corvo’s wrist, he grabs the back of Corvo’s neck instead, drawing their faces close. Corvo’s hands dart to the Outsider’s hips, holding him in place as their bodies press together. He can feel the rise and fall of the Outsider’s breathing against his sleep-bare chest. But there is no heartbeat. Just an endless stream of air. Their lips already close together, the bridge of the Outsider’s nose perilously close to Corvo’s. “So,” the Outsider taunts, “you better make this count.”

It is Corvo who touches his mouth to the Outsider’s first, sinking against unexpected warmth. Parting his lips, the Outsider doesn’t fight, letting his eyelids drop and hands skitter down Corvo’s sides.

They back towards Corvo’s bed, a mess of linens and still-clinging heat. About to push the Outsider to the mattress, Corvo is taken by surprise when the Outsider slips from underneath him, shoving at Corvo’s chest and taking him down. 

The mattress sinks with Corvo’s weight and, for a moment, he’s afraid he's drowning in the Void. The Outsider stands above him, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. 

“You didn't answer my question,” Corvo licks over his bottom lip, watching as the Outsider removes his shirt. His breaches still firmly around his slim waist, the Outsider pulls at his undershirt next.

“Which one?” he pauses, hands still at the hem of his shirt, worrying at the threads.

Corvo almost regrets asking a second time, because he's certain to curse the answer, “Those who tried to have you, before, did they succeed?”

The Outsider drops his hands from his remaining clothing. “No. I did not let them. As I can pull my Marked into the Void. I can expel them as well.”

“Are you about to expel me?”

“We are not in the Void, dear Corvo.” This time, with intent, he pulls the shirt over his head, revealing long stretches of bone-white flesh, clinging to his ribs and hips. There's a softness to his stomach, one Corvo does not expect.

The Outsider notices Corvo’s lingering gaze. He notices everything.

“Have you not seen starvation?”

Reaching forward, Corvo touches without asking, running his fingers from navel up. “So this is as you looked when sacrificed?”

The Outsider frowns, “No. I was...younger. I willed myself an older appearance. But there were limits to my choice. Perhaps I could have made myself a fat boy, instead of a thin man. This is what I would have looked at had I reached twenty, at most.”

“Perhaps that would have prevented those who wished to touch you, if you stayed a youth.”

Blinking, dark eyelashes grazing against the tops of his cheeks, the Outsider responds, “Prevented you? Perhaps. But the others? Do not be so naive. It doesn't suit you, Corvo." 

The Outsider pushes down his breeches, letting them pool around his ankles, his cock coming free. Rosier in color than the rest of him, it nonetheless hangs lifeless, flaccid between his legs.

“They drained you,” Corvo remembers, “that is why you breathe, but do not bleed.”

“I've bled enough for the next four thousand years as well,” the Outsider jokes, heavy in his mouth. Climbing into bed, he spreads his thighs over Corvo’s legs, pushing against his chest with both hands to put Corvo’s back against the mattress. 

Corvo lays one hand on each of the Outsider’s legs, wrapping his fingers around skin and bone, waiting for the Outsider to move. 

Hands come to the front of Corvo’s sleeping pants, reaching inside and forcing his cock to spring free. The Outsider doesn’t hold it, not exactly, letting it fall back against the plane of Corvo’s stomach, hard heat against a layer of coarse hair. Placing his hand over top of Corvo’s erection, the Outsider watches, then moves. 

Every soft touch is torture, even if in gentle exploration. The grazes and dips of the Outsider’s hand are not sexual, not in a way Corvo can understand. He rubs against Corvo’s cock, his chest, his chin. Cataloging reactions perhaps? Corvo does his best to keep his breathing steady. As if the Outsider could skitter away like a terrified bit of prey, lest Corvo move too quickly.

If nothing else, Corvo has patience. Even if he might ache for release. 

The Outsider’s hand comes back to the swell of Corvo’s cock, still just fingertips running along the hardened shaft. “Do you have oil?”

“Yes.”

“Is it whale?”

“No.”

It’s finer, sweeter. From a specialty shop, distilled just for this purpose. Corvo has had fifteen years to enjoy his own hands, rarely punctuated by fleeting partners, with whom he never shares his name. He has made the most of his limited opportunities. 

The Outsider sticks out his hand, waiting for his offering.

“Let me?” Corvo pleads. He can take this as slowly, as deliberately, as the Outsider desires. But he wishes to touch, to feel. Even if that sensation is only the Outsider’s body clamping down around his fingers.

The Outsider’s eyes widen, his hand drawing back. “Fine,” he concedes.

Stretching to the side, Corvo fumbles in the drawer next to his bed, retrieving the vial of oil.

“You have not laid with a man before,” the Outsider only repeats what they both already know.

Corvo counters, “I have thought of it.” He coats two of his fingers in oil, excess dribbling down the line of his wrist, drying up before his elbow.

“Men who reside outside the Void?”

“Yes,” Corvo assumes he is not required to volunteer more information than that.

Keeping one hand at the Outsider’s hip, Corvo reaches around to his back, trailing his fingers down along the Outsider’s tailbone, feeling each vertebrae in turn, coming to rest at the cleft of his ass.

Everywhere that Corvo touches is smooth, unblemished. He should not be so surprised. This body must be a thing of magic, a conjuration even if the Outsider has little means of contorting its shape.

Corvo slides one slickened finger inside, just past the rim. He halts when the Outsider hisses, though he does not tell Corvo to stop. Corvo can feel the tension seize the Outsider’s narrow frame. His body constricts, chest hollow and hands tightly curled against Corvo’s chest as he arches his spine. The rigid lines of the Outsider’s body suggest little, not asking for more or less. It is only his simple reaction to stimulation. 

Sinking deeper, Corvo curls his finger just a fraction, relishing the way the Outsider closes back around the digit. Achingly tight. Void, he doesn't know how he’ll fit inside. But Corvo aches for it. He wants.

Corvo pistons his finger in and out, working the Outsider open, stroke by stroke, hoping for some hint of pleasure to stem from the Outsider’s mouth, his cock, anything. Any sign that this is more than an act of selflessness. A bloom of desire. Because he knows the Outsider believes little in altruism.

But the Outsider’s cock stays soft, hanging limp between his legs as he lifts his hips off of Corvo’s legs, allowing enough space for Corvo to slot a second finger inside, scissoring gently with each stroke. And finally, finally, there is it, an admission of enjoyment, when the Outsider says, “More, now.”

Corvo pulls his hand out, noticing the way the Outsider closes back down as his fingers come free. Fumbling in the sheets, he searches for the oil, only to find it already between the Outsider’s hands. 

The Outsider smears oil over his hand, before tilting the vial and spilling it, too cold and too much, over Corvo’s cock and stomach. The liquid sluices over his hips, searching for a depression in which to pool. The Outsider brings his wet hand to Corvo’s cock, wrapping it in his grip. His fingers are long and fine, but his palm is smaller than Corvo’s own. Corvo can't help but enjoy how he bulges in the Outsider’s loose fist. 

“You'll dream of this for years to come,” the Outsider muses. “Every time I come to you, you’ll think of this.”

“And you will hate me for it?”

The Outsider shrugs, “Perhaps we will not see each other often. That will make it...easier, to still be fond.”

Corvo shudders, batting the Outsider’s hand away when the pressure becomes too much, when he steps too close to the precipice. He has no illusions of this illusion happening again. He wishes to cherish what he has been offered.

Grabbing the Outsider by his hips, Corvo tugs his bedmate closer, so he is positioned over the head of his cock. He takes one hand to hold himself in place, but lets the Outsider decide when to sink.

The Outsider strikes his hands flat against Corvo’s chest, and only then does Corvo notice the tremor, small, contained. Just as soon, the vibration vanishes. The Outsider lowers himself onto the head of Corvo’s cock. Open, accepting, swallowing him up in by inch. Warm and slick. Steady, until he trembles again. The Outsider takes him all at once, baring down until they are joined, Corvo sheathed to the hilt.

The pressure consumes. It enlightens.

Throwing his head back, the Outsider leaves his throat vulnerable, exposed. Corvo can just make out the line the cultists cut, from ear to ear, a trace of silver the Outsider could not heal.

Tipping forward, the Outsider meets Corvo’s eyes. They are the same eyes Corvo has always seen in the Void, whiteless, empty. There has never been warmth there. Corvo does not expect it. 

As the Outsider raises his hips, Corvo thrusts up, trying to stay as close as he can. His wish is to be consumed. Because this isn't just about a warm body. A body that is limitlessly enticing in its impossibility. It's about a barrier, one that Corvo wants to bring down, after a lifetime of trying to sure up barricades.

Corvo is a man who has always desired safety through distance. But he is terrible at staying away.

They find their rhythm, the Outsider fucking himself on Corvo’s cock; Corvo chasing after him, trying in vain to stay close, to bridge that gap still between them. Reaching forward, the Outsider brushes now-steady fingers along the angle of Corvo’s jaw, scraping his soft palm against Corvo’s beard. 

Corvo grabs his wrist, pulling it tight against his cheek, so the Outsider cannot pull away. He feels the scar there distinctly now, along his wrist, bubbling to the surface.

A request sneaks past Corvo’s lips, one that can never be fulfilled, because Corvo keeps asking after things he cannot keep. 

“Stay.”

At least the Outsider doesn't pull away, bringing his free hand to the other side of Corvo’s face, cradling it in his palms. Leaning forward, the Outsider opens his mouth to Corvo, a flood of empty air, the spaces that once were flesh, and now are something akin, but not quite.

Wrapping his arms around the Outsider’s back, Corvo holds him close, refusing to let their bodies drift apart. He squeezes down, keeping the Outsider in his arms as he flips them over, putting his partner on his back, plunging deep. 

The Outsider’s mouth falls open as his back hits the mattress. The bright hue of his skin makes the sheets look grey in comparison.

His eyes wide, still empty.

But for a fleeting moment, there are whites. A brilliant spark of brown.

The Outsider must know how his assumed form betrays him. He must. Because he throws his arm over his face, hiding his eyes from Corvo’s onslaught. 

Corvo has a great many questions, but most importantly, “Do you hate me?” he rasps.

“Finish what you have started,” the Outsider retorts from behind the shield of his arm.

Slowing his pace, Corvo thrusts long and deep. Still, the Outsider is soft against his belly. He will remain so. This encounter is to satisfy Corvo’s curiosity, nothing more. And because Corvo is dear to him, because Corvo is interesting, the Outsider tolerates his rupture of affection.

But Corvo still makes love as if it is for his partner’s pleasure. He does not know another way. He presses their bodies close together, searching for the Outsider’s lips, even if he won't reveal his eyes again. Corvo tucks his mouth against the Outsider’s, trying to coax his assent. Nothing is sweeter than when the Outsider’s lips part, even if he tastes of ozone and ash, long dead prophesies. 

He keeps them like this, chest to chest, hips to hips, shackled to each other as his end draws close. The friction is real. The Outsider’s mouth against his, tangible. 

Having no name to call, only “Void,” Corvo reaches his edge, starting to spill into the Outsider’s body, his orgasm hitting him in crashing waves. There is nothing but the water. Corvo can taste salt in his mouth, streaming down from under the Outsider’s still-clutched arm.

He only glimpses the whites of the Outsider’s eyes a second longer, when he finally pulls his arm away, before the body underneath Corvo sparks and fades, crackling into shards of blackened light, fading out faster than Corvo can try and grab on. He tumbles into the empty space below him, his face landing in the pillow.

But it's too dark. The Outsider pulls him into the Void.

“Do you despise me now?” his voice sounds like his own, but Corvo swears his lips stay shut.

“I cannot. I thought I would. But I cannot.”

Though the Outsider stands before him in full dress, Corvo can see it now, where he's left affection-stained handprints behind, sure as any scar.

**Author's Note:**

> I found the first Dishonored game to be...relatively difficult to penetrate with writing? In a way, the writing in the game is actually so coherent and interesting, I never felt like I had anything to add. I largely feel the same way about the second game, but I wanted to contribute something. So have this bit of canon non-compliant sex. 
> 
> Comments and kudos always appreciated 
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://imperfectkreis.tumblr.com)


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